


Yes, No, and Maybe

by StellaC



Series: Love Actually [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaC/pseuds/StellaC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Haytham were attracted to each other from the first time they met, though there was one obstacle: they might or might not be father and son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was one of those small bookstores near campus where he liked to hang out once in a while.

The owner, a young man from Britain with a sharp tongue, had a fine taste in music as well as books. And Connor enjoyed lingering between shelves, listening to the soft melody of Debussy, and smelling the odor of ink.

Today, he was browsing the fiction section when something caught his attention.

It was the only copy of the newest edition of _1984_ , one of Connor’s favorites, for it showed him a world without freedom that made the hair behind his neck stand.

It was also Achilles’ favorite. In fact, he was pretty certain it was mostly that cantankerous old man’s influence.

Even though it had been three years, he still didn’t miss his adopted father any less.

So he reached out to get the book.

But instead, he touched the fingers of another man, and flinched as if he was electrocuted.

“My apologies,” said the owner of those long and nimble fingers.

It was a silky, mild voice of a middle-aged man, with a profound British accent.

Connor turned his head and looked at the man. He was in his fifties, but in amazingly good shape for a man of his age. He had a handsome face, which was flattered by his neatly cut greying hair. He was wearing the standard attire of a scholar: white silk shirt, charcoal cardigan, black pants and a pair of dark brown oxford. He was also carrying a leather briefcase.

A professor, no doubt.

“Oh I was just browsing,” said Connor, slightly embarrassed. “You can have it if you want.”

“It’s quite alright. I was browsing as well.” The stranger smiled a little. “It reminds me of my youth as an ignorant teenager is all.”

“You know, I suppose I should be offended by that comment.” But he really wasn’t. “It happens to be one of my favorites.”

“Ah.” The man didn’t even sound apologetic. “Orwell does have an interesting interpretation of the conflict between freedom and order, albeit a bit extreme.” Then he seemed to remember himself.

“Haytham. Pleasure to meet you.” A hand was extended towards Connor.

The younger man hesitated for a split second, then he took the hand and firmly shook it.

“Connor. Nice to meet you too.”

 

“So, ecological anthropology,” said Haytham. “Preservation and conservation of Native American lands, I presume?” His right thumb had been caressing the lid of his Earl Grey subconsciously for the last 15 minutes. And Connor found it somewhat distracting.

Or maybe it was the fact that the name “Haytham” sounded familiar to him. He couldn’t tell.

“I’m hoping I can eventually get to do that,” he said. “Right now I’m working with my professor on the resource management of the Torres Strait Islanders in Australia.”

“That’s an entirely unfamiliar territory to me.” The older man took a sip of his tea, then continued, “Unlike you, I tend to focus on the overall themes of humanity, such as the use of power for freedom, or for order.”

“Then which way do you prefer?” prompted Connor.

“Order.” Haytham answered almost immediately. “In my opinion, freedom is just an invitation to chaos. Look at the Congress, or the British Parliament. Look at them stamp and shout, all in the name of liberty. But that’s just noise.”

Connor wanted to argue with him, wanted to say otherwise. But that was the exact moment Haytham’s cellphone decided to ring. So instead, he picked up his paper cup and took a drag.

“Excuse me,” said Haytham, as he picked up his phone.

“Dr. Kenway speaking.”

Connor choked on his latte.

Now he knew why the man’s name sounded so familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

“So let me get this straight,” said Desmond, with a mouthful of General Tao. “You met this really hot older guy, a professor, that you really want to fuck, but turns out he's your mom's ex, and may or may not be your dad?”

“Swallow your food before speaking.” Connor scowled at his roommate and best friend, mildly disgusted. “And who said anything about me wanting to…” He blushed. “To fuck him?”

He was still a virgin for fuck’s sake. Couldn’t he just be treated like one?

“Wait,” Desmond swallowed loudly, and then turned to look at him incredulously. “So you don’t want to fuck him?”

“What? No! I’m just –” Connor spluttered, then sighed in defeat. He lowered his head and started toying his chow mein with his fork. “Never mind. This conversation never happened.”

“Turn to page, three hundred…and ninety four,” said Severus Snape on their flatscreen.

“I totally understand, man,” said Desmond, while staring at Alan Rickman’s tightly wrapped body with a kind of primal hunger. “British men are too irresistible. I blame it on the accent.”

Connor couldn’t help but groaned.

 

“You find him attractive?” asked Charles, eyebrows cocked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” sighed Haytham.

And youthful. And naive. And wild. And ambitious. And intelligent. He could go on and on.

“But I don’t understand,” said Charles, stirring his tea and looking at his friend perplexedly. “How is it that even the mother herself didn’t know who the father was?” There was an obvious hint of disgust in his tone.

“Don’t blame it on her, Charles,” said Haytham, gravely. “After all, it was I who became emotionally unavailable to begin with. It must have been really difficult for her afterwards. She was no Thomas, you know. She wouldn’t do that just for the heck of it.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Charles’ lips curled up a little. “It would hurt his precious little ego.”

Haytham huffed. “Doubtful,” he said, smirking. “His ego is like a diamond, tough and shiny, almost indestructible.”

His best friend laughed quietly for a few seconds, then became serious all over again. “But what about blood types?” he asked. “Have you asked him?”

“Inconclusive,” said Haytham. His thumb was caressing the edge of his fine porcelain cup, which had been the little giveaway of his self-consciousness to people like Charles, who had been friends with him for more than two decades.

“He and I are both A positive. Ziio was AB positive.”

It could mean nothing, but it could also mean everything.

“Then your only option is to do a paternity test,” suggested Charles.

Haytham just nodded.

It was Charles who sighed this time. “We’ve all been worried for you, Haytham. You haven’t had anything lasted longer than two months after Ziio.” He sipped his tea, and then continued. “As much as I want to see you settle down with someone, regardless the gender, I hate to see you getting caught up in this mess even more.”

Then he patted his friend’s forearm encouragingly.

“Just get this sorted out as soon as possible, hmm?”

Haytham sighed, and lowered his eyes.

“I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

It never occurred to Connor how two little cotton swabs could change two men’s lives forever.

He put the sealed plastic bag back into the white plastic envelope, feeling the other one that was already in it, tore the sticky seal, and closed it. He turned it over, looked at the logo of Absergo Laboratory, and sighed.

So that was it. All he had to do now was to put the envelope into a mailbox, and waited for another six weeks or so.

After all, how much more could his life be changed in six week?

He smiled bitterly to himself, remembering what his mother had told him about Haytham.

They met when Haytham was first transferred to the university about 27 years ago. He was a Ph. D. student in political science and happened to be one of the TA’s in Ziio’s class. They met on the very first day Haytham arrived at the campus, trying to navigate to the massive Arts Complex (which was also known as “The Grand Temple” because it really was huge), and getting lost. Ziio helped him find the way, and maybe thought he was cute or something. Later, one of the guys from their class had been harassing Ziio, and Haytham helped her out of trouble. They started dating after that semester was over.

Eventually, they parted on bad terms three years later, because Haytham was too caught up in getting his degree and employment within the school. Ziio was driven away by his ambitions and became rather frustrated and depressed. Her rather reckless partying shortly afterwards ended with an unexpected pregnancy. And there came the mystery of Connor’s biological father.

Connor wondered briefly if his mother would be turning in her grave, now that he had formed a rather awkward and complicated tie with Haytham.

But in the end, he decided he couldn’t afford the time and energy to dwell longer in that thought.

After all, none of them could turn back the clock.


	4. Chapter 4

Haytham had been doing a lot of thinking lately.

Not that he usually didn’t. It was just that the thinking he had been doing had very little to do with academics or career advancement, both had occupied most of his life for more than two decades.

The peculiar turn of recent events was rather inconvenient. Well, generally speaking, feelings were inconvenient for Haytham Kenway, who had a terrifyingly rational mind, and was quite proud of it. Sure, he had his passions, but they were hidden behind acts of reasons.

Before Connor, there was only one exception – Ziio. However, it was her who pursued him, who initiated their first kiss, and their first night in bed. And eventually, he had slipped back into the mask of rationality and distanced himself from her. He still couldn’t figure out how to make of her. Of course, he had once loved her – or had had whatever feelings he had thought was love for her. But he still considered her a mistake, in the sense that if he hadn’t agreed to be with her in the first place, he wouldn’t have to break her heart later. And in the light of recent events, he wouldn’t have struggled with whatever relations he had with Connor.

Or perhaps there would be no Connor in this world if it weren’t for – No, he must not think that.

What he felt for Connor was very different from what he had felt for Ziio, if he came to think of that. He wasn’t feeling paternal at all, but somewhat…protective. Connor reminded him of Ziio, in terms of his wild grace and his passionate nature. He wouldn’t mind Connor’s beautiful physique either. But Haytham could also see a bit of his younger self in Connor, specifically, his intelligence and determination. He felt…appreciative towards the younger man, as if he was a fine piece of art and Haytham was a virtuoso.

Haytham usually didn’t allow himself to feel a lot of emotions, because he found them confusing and distracting. But he was very good in reading them in others, if he did say so himself. He could see Connor admired and respected him as an accomplished scholar and a well-to-do member of the society. He could tell from his subtle blush on the cheeks just ten minutes after their conversation that he was very attracted to him. He could see Connor’s obvious inner struggle from how his eyes avoided him after he came to know Haytham’s surname – though anyone who had half a brain could see that.

Did it trouble him now that he knew Connor could possibly be his son? Very. After all, Haytham had been an advocate for order for all his life. He thrived from routines, certainty and predictability. Not to mention he was brought up to follow the rules, being laws or social norms. Having an affair with his son – incest – was unimaginable.

But as much as Haytham hated to admit, he had felt increasingly lonely as his age grew. He might not have another chance to feel the things he was feeling now. And maybe for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do.

So he deleted the message he had been staring at for the last 15 minutes, rubbed his temple with his fingers, and sighed.

 

Connor was jogging towards the elevator when its door was about to close.

“Hold it, please!” he shouted.

A rather familiar-looking hand held the door open for him.

He slipped in before the door closing again.

Then he looked at the only other person in the elevator with him.

“Oh,” he managed. “Thanks.”

“Good morning, Connor,” said Haytham, lips curling up ever-so-slightly. “Going to class?”

“Um, yes.” He hit the “6” button on the panel, and saw the “7” button was already lit up. “Professor Johnson’s Native American archaeology. I’m one of his TA’s.”

He turned to look at Haytham again. “You?”

“A survey course of political theories,” Haytham hesitated for a moment, which seemed completely out of character, and asked, “Have you…?”

“Yes,” answered Connor, hastily. “I dropped it off on my way here.”

“Good.” Haytham nodded.

Connor bit his lower lip, and then suddenly said, “You never text me back.” He tried to sound less accusatory, but failed miserably.

“I am aware,” said Haytham, almost nonchalantly.

“Are you avoiding me?”

“I am in the same lift with you, boy,” he calmly pointed out.

“Could you stop?”

What? Avoiding him? Being such an ass? Both?

Connor felt his temper rising. He would most likely do something reckless in the next 5 seconds if the older man continued to be so obnoxiously impassive.

Maybe he was his father, maybe he wasn’t. It didn’t change the fact that he wanted to bond with him and get to know him. It was an established fact among his friends that when Connor Kenway set his mind to something, he would do whatever it took to get it.

Haytham seemed to be slightly taken aback by Connor’s strong advances. And clearly, he understood what Connor meant.

He meant both.

So Haytham nodded, and said, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Connor let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and opened it door.

“This is me,” said Connor, walking out. “I’ll see you around.” Then he took a right and disappeared.

“See you around,” muttered Haytham, as the door closing in again.

 

The thing about having a rational mind was, even though you were doing something completely irrational, such as promising the young man whom you were attracted to, and who might or might not be your son you would be in touch before making sure he really was not your son, you could still analyze your action and come up with a perfectly rational conclusion.

And in this case, Haytham’s conclusion was: He was totally screwed.


	5. Chapter 5

Connor Kenway was a romantic.

Well, not the kind of romantic who would try to get into women’s pants with bouquets of roses and fancy dinners, like his buddy Ezio. Instead, him being an romantic meant that he acted on feelings. He did not stop and comb through them. His actions, especially in romance, were solely based on what he felt.

For example, his first kiss. There was this girl, Ellen, a high school senior whom he had been hopelessly infatuated with since Seventh Grade. But she had always treated him like a little brother, maybe because she had tutored him on algebra and all that. In the summer of his Tenth Grade, Ellen broke up with her douchebag of a boyfriend. So he thought his opportunity finally came. He asked her out for ice-cream, told her how he had felt, and kissed her when she was too surprised to say anything in return. Of course, she bro-zoned him afterwards, and he cried on Achilles’ shoulder for an hour.

If he was Haytham the Rational, first of all, he would definitely not have acted like an adorable puppy around his crush. But more importantly, he would have devised a more intricate plan to woo her, instead of just pouring his heart out for nothing.

Anyway, after Ellen getting happily married two years ago, Connor finally got over her. Now he ended up being complicated with Haytham, and he still hadn’t learnt his lesson.

Basically, he decided he wanted to know Haytham better. And he’d already known Haytham when he was with him. So according to his straight line thinking, he should see him at work next.

 

So there he was, sitting in the back of the lecture hall, pretending to take notes on his laptop while he was actually watching Dr. Kenway talking and pacing and gesturing.

And he definitely did not feel like a creepy stalker.

“We are going to talk about communism in the next three lectures,” said Haytham. The word “communism” was the only thing on the huge screen behind him. “Today’s lecture is just an overview of the communist theory, and their Leninist and Maoist variations. We will go more in depth in later lectures.”

Then he hit a button on the remote in his hand. The screen changed into a portrait of Karl Marx and some important points of the man’s life.

“First, we will start on a brief summary of Marx’s life…”

He was an effective lecturer. Connor had to give him credit for that. Communism, or any other political theory was not a fun subject to learn about, but he had a way to make it appear fascinating and relevant. And, it might be because of his accent, but the way he delivered his lecture had certain grace and elegance that Connor found it rare among his professors. He apparently had meticulous lesson plans and notes, which he dutifully followed. And his slides showed exactly what the main points he was trying to make.

There were about a hundred people in the lecture hall. With very few exceptions, they appeared to be paying attention. There was nothing but Haytham’s voice, and the sounds of keys clicking and pens scratching paper.

An hour and a half passed like it was just a few minutes. And another layer of admiration was added to Connor’s complicated feelings towards the older man.

He collected his belongings and walked towards the podium.

Haytham was answering a student’s question, something about essay topics.

 _It was only the third week of the semester. I was never so diligent when I was an undergraduate student,_ mused Connor.

Haytham spotted him. His eyes slightly narrowed, and he gestured him to wait until he finished his conversation with the girl. So Connor stood aside, listening to their discussion curiously.

After the girl was satisfied with Haytham’s answer and bid her professor goodbye, Haytham went back to collect his things, and said, nonchalantly, “I wasn’t aware that you were in my class.”

“No, I was just listening,” said Connor, his hand touching the back of his neck self-consciously. “You are a very good teacher.”

“Thank you.” Haytham took the compliment quite naturally. Then he seemed to remember something. “Weren’t you supposed to be in class?” he frowned at the younger man.

“Oh, not really,” said Connor. “My lab time isn’t in this time slot.”

“Well then,” said Haytham, smiling slightly, as he buckled up his briefcase. “Lunch?”

 

The hallways were swamped with students waiting to get into the elevators, so they decided to take the stairs.

“– won’t give you the satisfaction.”

As soon as they opened stairwell door, it became apparent that they weren’t the only people choosing the route, though whoever was in there with them seemed to be arguing with another individual.

Haytham exchanged a mischievous look with Connor, and silently left the door ajar. Connor just rolled his eyes and went along.

They tiptoed down a few more steps, and peeked towards the lower floor.

There were two men down there, one was pinning the other on the wall with his weight. And he was also the one ranting furiously. The other person seemed unfazed, or just outright given up.

“Would you just calm down?” asked the man, with a dose of amusement in his voice.

“Isn’t that…?” whispered Connor, clearly surprised by what he saw.

Haytham almost couldn’t contain his urge to laugh.

 _Oh, Charles, what have you gotten yourself into?_ He couldn’t help but smirked.

Indeed, the angry one of the pair was Charles Lee (not the reincarnation of the historical figure, despite his profound love of Pomeranians), Associate Professor of the Department of History, interested in North American military history. The other one, who looked rather amused if anything, was George Washington (no relation to the President either), the new Chair of the Department of History, who was also popular among students because of his informative and fascinating lectures on American history.

And they had been arch-nemesis since time began.

Or that was what Charles had been claiming.

Connor turned to look at Haytham, and scowled. “Why are you smirking?” he demanded lowly.

Haytham just gestured him to follow him back to the seventh floor hallways.

 

“Do you care to explain?”

Connor started to grill Haytham for an answer the moment they closed the stairwell door.

“Charles hates Washington for taking the Chair,” snorted Haytham, as they were waiting for the elevator away from the herd of students.

“He hates him?” Connor stared at the older man incredulously. “I thought he was going to fuck him right then and there! I could practically see the unresolved sexual tension in the air!” he hissed.

“Well, and there’s that.” Haytham let out an unapologetic laugh. “Charles isn’t aware of that particular aspect of his relationship with Washington.”

Connor eyed the professor suspiciously. “I still don’t see why this is so amusing to you,” he said.

“Because you don’t have to listen to Charles rant about the man on a daily basis,” deadpanned Haytham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person, but I'm not even sorry XD


	6. Chapter 6

Haytham wished there had been a book called _How to Bond with a Man Who You Couldn’t Decide If He’s Your Lover or Son_.

Because, for starter, it was extremely difficult to find an excuse to text the other without looking nosey or clingy. Second, how to manage a tone that fell between overtly flirtatious and paternal proved to be very challenging.

This is ridiculous, he thought irritatedly. He was no longer an awkward teenage boy, and had had his fair share of experience in dealing with that kind of relationship nonsense. Yet, why the bloody hell was it so hard?

After composing and deleting the text message multiple times, he settled for the safest one, and pressed the “send” button.

He then threw his Blackberry into the crack between sofa cushions and stood up to leave the room.

Best pretend to not be waiting for a response at all.

 

The moment Connor saw the words on his iPhone, he couldn’t help but chuckled.

Really, Haytham? “‘Do you do sports?’”

It was a silly question of a thousand shades of lameness. Anyone with a little bit of eyesight and common sense could tell Connor's was athletic. Just look at the size of his biceps.

Yet, it was at the same time incredibly adorable.

And he would have never imagined using the word “adorable” on Haytham.

“Yes, of course I do, you dork.” He pressed “send” with a stupid grin on his face.

“Oh my fucking God.”

He looked up, only to see Desmond gaping at him, holding a bowl of macaroni and cheese.

“What?” asked Connor, slightly annoyed.

“Look at that sickening smile on your face, man.” Desmond sat down next to him and put down the bowl on the coffee table, eyes never left his face. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

He was utterly surprised by Desmond’s words. He wouldn’t have labeled what he felt towards Haytham as love, but more of a mixture of admiration, curiosity, respect, and endearment.

But what would he know? He’d never been in love before. How could he even tell what love would feel like?

“What were you smiling about just now?” asked his roommate.

“He asked me if I did sports.” Connor shrugged. “And I thought it was pretty lame but adora – oh God.” He gasped, staring at Desmond with his eyes widened.

If calling Haytham Kenway “adorable” wasn’t a telltale sign of being in love with said man, then nothing else would be.

Desmond nodded at him heavily.

“You see what I meant now?”

“Yes, I suppose,” sighed Connor. “But I can’t be in – not when I still don’t know if he is my Father.”

“Well, over the years I’ve been a bartender, I’ve listened to all kinds of shit people tell me,” said his best friend. “One thing I understand from that is there’s no switch for feelings, even if those feelings are wrong. You can’t turn it on and off like the light.”

Connor scrubbed his face with his hands. “Then what would you have me do?” he asked, resisting the urge to sigh again.

“Focus on something else. Hell, maybe even someone else while you’re at it.” Desmond threw up his hands. “Just untangle yourself from that guy first. Get some perspective.”

As much as he hated to admit that, Connor knew Desmond was right. It was the logical thing to do.

And perhaps, for once in his life, he should let logical and rationality, rather than emotions and feelings dictate his actions.


	7. Chapter 7

“Come on Dobby, I really need your help.” Connor gave his fellow TA the puppy eyes as they were leaving Professor Johnson’s office.

“Altair is stuck with Malik. Ezio is probably going to bring some girl I’ve never met in my entire life. And Desmond has been trying to get into Shaun’s pants for ages,” he pled. “I am desperately in need of your moral support there.”

He had known Dobby, or Deborah Carter, for almost two years, and they had been pretty close. He could still remember when they first met, Dobby tried to flirt with him, though he was completely oblivious.

Maybe it was time to pick up where they left off. The fact that Dobby was an attractive young woman didn’t hurt, either.

“Well,” said Dobby, rolling her eyes. “I can see where this little ‘get-together’ is going. What do I get in return for being mentally scarred?” She pressed the “down” button next to the elevator, then turned around and lazily leaned on the steel frame.

“Um, what do you propose?” He looked at her.

“I don’t know.” Dobby shrugged, and then smirked.

“A date?” she suggested.

“Okay,” smiled Connor.

Then he caught someone standing not far from him. So he took a glance.

Only to find it was Haytham, immaculately dressed, who was also staring at him with his piercing gaze.

Connor almost shuddered, because there was not a hint of emotion on the older man’s face. He was staring at him as though he did not know him.

As though they were strangers.

Suddenly, Connor remembered Haytham’s routine of working at his office from 3 to 4 on the days when he had no class or office hours.

And it was exactly 4 p.m. right now.

Connor tried to say something, anything to wipe that look off Haytham’s face.

But then he recalled his conversation with Desmond, about how he had to untangle himself from this mess.

So he turned his eyes back to Dobby, and pretended nothing was wrong.

The elevator came. The three of them stepped inside.

Dobby turned to look at Connor with interest. “How does dinner sound?” she asked.

Connor dared to spare a glance over towards Haytham, who was staring the changing red digit above the door, looking absolutely bored.

“Sounds good,” he said, feeling his throat just went dry.

Good God, he felt like a man who was caught cheating by his wife!

And he wasn’t even in a relationship with Haytham! So where the hell did all this guilt come from?

“Do you like Italian?”

“Um, not really.” He cleared his throat. “Too much cheese.”

“Mexican?”

“Yeah, that’s better.”

Dobby laughed, and reached out to touch his elbow. He almost flinched.

“Are you nervous?” she said, playfully. “Don’t be. I promise I won’t eat you.”

 _I’d rather you do it right here right now, and literally_ , thought Connor, fighting the urge to scream.

“No,” he said, dryly, “I’m fine. Really.”

Thankfully, before Dobby could say anything else, the elevator arrived at the lobby, and its door opened.

Haytham stepped out first without looking back, and then disappeared out of Connor’s sight.

 _I am doing the right thing_. Connor kept convincing himself.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the feelings of guilt and pain no matter how hard he tried.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been three weeks since that disastrous encounter, and Connor had not seen or heard from Haytham during the time. Sure, he had been busy, now that the semester had been in full swing. But he had also spent more time with Dobby.

Their first date went better than he’d expected. They talked and laughed over dinner, then he walked her home and kissed her goodnight on the cheek. They went out a few more times after that. Two quick lunches at the cafeteria and one study date at her place that turned into a make-out session.

It was casual and relaxing with Dobby. No worry about whether they were blood-related or not. No need to try to catch the subtle hints of her facial expressions and to feel the currents underneath the calm surface. No more heated arguments about political ideologies. Everything just seemed so natural and easy.

A little too easy, perhaps.

The more time he spent with Dobby, the more he thought about Haytham, about the fact that he had finally got to see through his thistles and thorns, and catch a glimpse of his heart, before he threw that chance away. He missed the intensity between them and the challenge in front of them. He also gradually realized that no matter what happened with the paternity test, or in the future, they could never go back to being just friends, or, if it really came down to that, father and son.

Desmond was right about feelings. You couldn’t just switch it off.

And Dobby, God blessed the woman, she had figured out he hadn’t actually been there whenever they were together, and elected to break things off with him. They eventually returned to being friends, albeit the slight awkwardness they were currently experiencing.

He knew he had to make things right with Haytham. And the only way to do that was to ambush him somewhere.

Despite the fact that they hadn’t hung out an awful lot, they had been constantly texting one another, with phone calls every few day. He had known quite a bit about the older man without going out for a proper date with him.

One thing about Haytham was that he was a man of routines, a creature of habits. Every Saturday night, from 6 to around 10 p.m., he would be at the faculty’s club, conversing and playing bridge with his colleagues. He sometimes even invited one of his friends over, like the one worked in the military, or the one owned a private security company. During the night, he would drink two fingers of Bourbon, and a lot of lemon Perrier, so that by the time he left, he would be sober enough to drive home.

 

It had started to rain by the time Connor arrived at the faculty’s club. Not a heavy downpour, but just enough to irritate him and make his clothes wet.

He cursed under his breath and circled around the block, before he found that familiar black Audi parked next to a back alley. He then leaned against the car, careful not to trigger the alarm, and waited.

It wasn’t long before a certain poised-looking older man in a navy Tom Ford three-piece suit appeared, right hand holding a black umbrella.

Connor straightened up, and faced the man.

Haytham stopped right in front of him and said, impassively, “Explain yourself.”

Upon seeing him, Connor felt his stomach did a little back-flip.

“I’m here to apologize,” he blurted out.

Haytham’s face softened almost unnoticeably.

“Go on,” he said.

What did he want to apologize for exactly? For dragging him back into this mess while Haytham was still sane enough to try to quit? For being a complete dick who messed with him?

In the end, he sighed and said, “For not being honest with what I feel towards you.”

“Oh? Pray tell,” said Haytham, eyebrows tilted.

Connor hoped like hell that Haytham was just testing him, was just trying to get under his skin as revenge for the misery he’s put him through.

Though the fact that the older man was still listening with considerable patience was definitely a good sign, since he could have simply got in the car and driven away by now.

Connor sucked in a large breath.

“I’m in love with you, Haytham.”

For a second, Haytham’s expression remained neutral, while Connor found his heart just leaped into his throat.

Then there was this magical gush of chilly wind that made him shudder and sneeze.

“Bless you,” teased Haytham, sounding far too amused for Connor’s liking.

But then he gave out a sound that fell between a sigh and a snort, fished out the remote from his pocket, and unlocked the car.

“Get in before you catch your death,” he said, walking towards the driver’s side.

Connor couldn’t help but sighed in relief. He opened the door and entered the car.

It wasn’t until they’d driven for a few blocks that he realized he had no idea where they were heading. So he turned and asked, “Where are we going?”

“My place,” said Haytham, nonchalantly, as he was making a right turn, “since you’ve never bothered to tell me where you live.”

Despite himself, Connor swallowed.

Was it what he thought it was going to be? Did he have to prove his words physically now?

Just the notion of that was intimidating to him. Hell, the furthest he’s ever got with somebody was last week at Dobby’s place when he touched her breasts and flinched – oh no, he did not need to remember that!

 _Damn, what am I going to do?_ He couldn’t help but buried his face in his palms and groaned.

“Are you nervous?” smirked Haytham. “Don’t be. I promise I won’t eat you.”

“You bastard,” he grunted weakly.

 

Apparently, Haytham didn’t live far from campus. In fact, he resided in one of those high-end apartment buildings downtown, the kind with underground parking lot and doormen.

His place was on the 6th floor. And it was decorated in minimalist and modern fashion, and ornamented with the occasional impressionist art pieces. Everything was so neat and tidy. Not even a shoe was misplaced. Connor wouldn’t be surprised if Haytham told him he used Dewey Decimal Classification to organize his collection of books.

Just as his eyes were still wandering around Haytham’s apartment, the older man threw him a pair of silk pajama pants, which he caught with impeccable reflex, and said, “Put your wet clothes in the dryer. I’ll deal with them in the morning.”

Connor just blinked at him.

“Now go shower,” he barked. “You smell like wet fur.”

Connor ended up spending almost half an hour in the shower, far too long than necessary, and using up all the hot water, though Haytham didn’t seem to be bothered much.

By the time he got out, all steaming red and freaking out, Haytham was sitting in bed and reading a book, already changed into his own pajamas. Upon seeing him, Haytham cocked his eyebrows and smirked. He then marked his page, put down the book on the nightstand, and laid down.

“Come here,” he said, motioning Connor to climb into bed with him.

Connor awkwardly slipped into bed, and almost moaned. The sheet and the quilt felt absolutely divine.

He then positioned himself as comfortable as he could get in Haytham’s arms, and sighed softly.

 _Bring it on, old man_ , he mused, expectantly yet still scared.

But Haytham just turned off the light and pulled the quilt up for him.

Connor turned his head to stare at him.

“Aren’t we supposed to…you know…?” he prompted, blushing furiously.

Haytham smiled slightly, and held him closer.

“There is no need to rush, boy.” He kissed the corner of Connor’s eye. “We have all the time in the world.”

Then he closed his eyes contently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part in the bedroom isn't my creation. It's actually from a Hongkongese rom com called "Love in a Puff." It's one of my two favorite rom coms (the other being "Love Actually," of course), and it's brilliant. I highly recommend you guys to see it, if you can get a copy with English subtitles!


	9. Chapter 9

Haytham was never the type that jumped from bed to bed with a broken heart, or became all depressed and unproductive just because of a little romantic misadventure. Not at all. He had more self-control than that. His life appeared to be no different than before during those three weeks without Connor. However, if his personal stash of Bourbon and wine had gone away slightly faster than usual, that was understandable.

Just because he wouldn’t admit that he was hurt, didn’t mean that it hadn’t been the case.

He knew it was a path full of obstacles. The possible blood relations, their same gender, and the age difference, all those nonsense. He could’ve understood why Connor wanted to pull away.

If he hadn’t dragged him back there in the first place.

But no, Haytham was not bitter. He had no time for that. He had lectures to give, papers to grade, books to write, meetings to attend. His mind had no room for that little bugger. He was sure that with a bit of time, his heavy schedule and ambitions, and maybe a small dose of alcohol the young man’s existence would eventually be cleansed out of his brain.

And his plan had worked out quite nicely. No, he had absolutely _not_ glanced at his phone unconsciously. Certainly not several times a day.

However, just as how his peaceful and somewhat dull life had been turned upside down the first time he met Connor, his heart was ripped inside out again when he saw the bloody twat was waiting for him in the rain, just like a wet kitten.

At that exact moment, all he wanted to do was to devour the younger man, to mark the every inch of his skin, to watch him squirm and moan and beg on his black Egyptian cotton sheet.

Sadly, it didn’t happen.

And no, Haytham would never feel like divulging the reason.

 

He was staring at the white envelope when he phone started vibrating on his desk. The caller ID said “Connor.”

He sighed, putting down the envelope, and answered the phone.

“Yes?” he said.

“Have you got the result back?” Connor didn’t waste any time to get straight to the point.

“I’m staring at it.” Haytham rubbed his face with his other palm.

“You haven’t opened it?”

Haytham snorted. “Have you?” he countered.

He was answered by Connor’s silence.

Haytham smiled to himself bitterly. They were both fools.

“Lunch?” he asked.

Connor groaned with relief.

“God, yes.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I flew back to China over the weekend and had no time to write.  
> Here's another chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it!

It was because they changed the damned lock last week.

While Connor was mostly a conscientious person – you had to be once you got into grad school – the same could not be said about his roommate. Desmond often found himself running late for work. So in his rush to leave their shared apartment, he would most likely forget to lock the front door, which would in turn give Connor quite a fright, when he came back from school later in the evening.

So they eventually changed their lock into the kind that could automatically lock itself without using the key.

And Connor, out of old habit, closed the door with his foot when he was about to take the trash downstairs. When he returned, however, he realized he could no longer get inside without taking up his sleeping roommate.

Oh sleeping he was.

At first Connor just knocked, but to no avail. Then the frustration got to him, making him pound the door so hard that his next door neighbour, a grumpy old drunkard, opened his door and swore at him with his slurring mouth.

But Desmond still did not wake up and get the door. After all, it was still pretty early in the afternoon, and he had no reason to be awake in another couple hours.

Connor wasn’t going to stand in the hallway and wait for two hours. But he had left his phone and wallet inside.

Sighing in defeat, he went down to the liquor store down the block to borrow the phone. The owners, a young couple called Norris and Myriam, had always been nice to him.

“Good afternoon, Connor!” said Norris behind the counter, cheerily, just like every other time he saw him, though he sensed something wrong rather quickly, seeing that Connor just grumble something in return. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I locked myself out.” Connor made a face. “May I borrow your phone?”

“Of course.” Norris handed it to him almost immediately. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

He then dialled the only number he could remember by heart other than 911.

“Hello?” Haytham’s voice carried a wariness that was foreign to him.

“It’s me, Connor.” He rubbed his face as he spoke. “May I come over? I locked myself out.”

There was a slight sigh at the other end of the line.

“I’m in my office.” Connor looked up at the clock and silently cursed. It was just past 3 o’clock. “Where are you calling from?”

“At the liquor store down the block,” he answered. “Why?”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in 15 minutes,” said Haytham, curtly, before hanging up.

When Haytham did show up in exactly 15 minutes, wearing another one of his fancy suits, Connor couldn’t help but wonder just why on earth would a fine man like him would desire the company of a poor student like him, who was stupid enough to lock himself out of his home, and was currently wearing merely a pair of old sweatpants, a Captain America t-shirt, and flip-flops.

Suddenly, he felt like a damsel in distress being rescued by his knight in shiny armour and riding a white horse.

But then Haytham just nodded at Norris with a coolness that was typical in him when dealing with strangers, and turned to motion Connor to come over, with that damned smirk on his face that for some reason warmed Connor’s heart at once.

He resolutely threw his insecurity out the window and walked towards his boyfriend, while waving goodbye to a smiling Norris.

“What’s with the suit?” he asked, after they both got into the car.

“Meeting with the board,” said Haytham, nonchalantly, as he was starting the car. “The Dean is retiring next year. They want me to fill in the position.”

At first, Connor couldn’t help but felt a surge of pride. Then terrible realization dawned upon him like a bucket of icy water. Biting his lower lip, he asked hesitantly, “But isn’t it unethical for a Dean to date one of his students?”

Haytham curled his lips mischievously. “Why yes, of course.”

He chuckled at Connor’s daunted expression, and the glared that followed. “I turned it down, citing personal reasons,” he said, as though he just told him he simply did not want to “talk about the Lord.”

“You did what?” Connor stared at him with wide eyes. “Why would you do that?” he demanded, though he already knew the answer.

Haytham gave him a look that clearly said “What kind of idiotic question is that,” and turned back to look at the road.

But Connor wasn’t having it, because his earlier insecurity resurfaced, making him very self-conscious. “No, I want to hear you say it,” he insisted, with his signature bullheadedness. “Humour me.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he caved in easily. “What is it with you today?”

He then gave Connor a meaningful look. “Because I have 20 more years to live – 30, if I’m lucky – and I’d hate to die alone.” He sighed quietly. “This is me trying, by rejecting something that would most certainly jeopardize our relationship.”

Connor just blinked at Haytham owlishly, while a wave of warmth washed over him. He couldn’t believe his ears. What Haytham just said almost sounded like a marriage proposal. They had officially been a couple for two weeks, and he was turning down a major promotion just for his sake. In this rate, he wouldn’t even be surprised if they got hitched by the end of the year!

Eventually, he snapped out of his trance. “Um, that’s –” He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I’m touched.”

“Hmm.” Haytham just made a non-committal noise, as if he didn’t actually say the sweetest thing in the world.

 

“There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry. Books in the study if you get bored, though my computer is password protected. I have a lecture that starts in…” Haytham glanced at his watch before continuing, “20 minutes, and a staff meeting afterwards, so I’ll probably be home at around 7:30.” He then gave Connor a subtle smile. “You, in the meantime, can decide what you’d like for dinner.”

“Okay,” Connor smiled back.

After Haytham left, Connor started to wander around the place. Last time he was here, he went straight to the master bedroom, and left early with Haytham because he had a meeting with his publisher. He didn’t get a good look at Haytham’s home.

The living room was spacious. And the view from the balcony was magnificent. But he was most interested in the study. It was a habit of his to look at someone’s book collection to deduce the person’s taste and interest.

Haytham had a wall filled with books, which were arranged, not with Dewey Decimal Classification, unfortunately, but according to the alphabetical order of the authors’ names. The subjects of those books varied, from popular literature (the whole catalogues of Agatha Christie and J. R. R. Tolkien) to the classics (Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare, and Chaucer), from science (Richard Dawkins and Stephen Hawking) to philosophy (Michel Foucault, Friedrich Nietzsche, Descartes, and Plato), from the West (William Faulkner and Kurt Vonnegut) to the East (Confucius, Tagore, and Yukio Mishima). Suffice to say, Connor was fascinated.

He also noticed a copy of Roy Rappaport’s _Pigs for the Ancestors_ on the desk, with a bookmark sticking out in the middle. Curling his lips, he picked up the book, and started flipping through the pages. He could see phrases underlined and notes jotted down with pencil.

He put the book back, and suddenly felt like he should do something in return.

So he went into his kitchen and opened the fridge.

 

Connor’s eyes darted towards hallway as the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Just what’s going – Oh.”

Haytham stood in front of the dining table, where an exquisite dinner of two was set up, and literally gaped.

“You made all these?” He gestured towards the steaks and salad, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” said Connor, somewhat self-consciously, standing by his work. “I hope it’s not too bland for your taste?”

“Oh but it is.” Haytham strode forward, and held the younger man in his arms, making Connor yelp. “I can think of a much better dinner,” he purred.

Then he captured the younger man’s mouth and slipped in his tongue when Connor opened his mouth in surprise.

Despite their emotional fast lane, they had kept an extraordinarily slow pace in physical contacts. This, in fact, was their first kiss. It was passionate, and sweet. Their tongues danced around each other, playing hide and seek. They could not get enough of one another. It was five minutes later before Connor broke the kiss and gasped for air.

“Wow,” he whispered, pupils blown wide with amazement and lust.

Haytham fared no better. His lips were swollen. And his usually immaculately combed hair was a mess. But he was, at the same time, so gorgeous and attractive.

“Wow indeed.” He reached out to touch Connor’s equally bruised lips. Then his grip tightened on the other man, and started to move towards his bedroom.

Connor was blushing furiously. He felt incredibly hot all of a sudden. He swallowed, clumsily following Haytham’s footsteps, and trying very hard not to moan when he left a wet trail on the shell of his left ear.

“But…what about the food…” He was actually a bit upset for the steaks in red wine sauce being blatantly ignored. He was quite the decent cook after all, if he did say so himself.

“I’m sure we’ll be very hungry after the activities that follow,” breathed Haytham, before he worried himself in the hollow of Connor’s neck.

They waltzed their way into the bedroom and onto Haytham’s king size bed, their clothes leaving a trail on the floor. Their naked erections pressed together, leaking pre-cum, making their breaths hitched.

Haytham looked down upon his lover, his left hand haphazardly digging the nightstand drawer for lubricant and condom, and felt his heart almost burst from excitement.

“I am going to fuck you so hard, Boy,” he smirked, finally fishing out the necessary items.

His swearing made Connor’s cock twitch. He stared at him, now a predator of on the top of food chain, and murmured, “Then you best get on with it.”

The preparation process was quick yet methodical. Though neither of them was willing to wait any longer, they had to ensure they wouldn’t get hurt.

Then when Haytham finally buried himself inside Connor, they both snarled. It felt marvellous, brilliant, and right. Their pace soon became steady, like a set of gears that was working seamlessly. Yet they felt like they were melted by the heat, and remerging into one new beautiful being. Every breath, every drop of sweat, and every love mark was a glorious miracle. They were like a ship in a storm, trembling, rocking, yet still surviving, and becoming stronger than ever.

Eventually, Haytham came with a hitched breath and a low growl. His hand naturally found Connor’s flagging cock, and pumped it vigorously. Before long, Connor let out a particularly loud moan and spilled their stomachs with semen.

 

They were lying in bed side by side, too lazy to get off and have dinner, when Haytham suddenly began chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Connor turned and arched his eyebrows towards his lover.

“Do you know why it didn’t happen last time?” Haytham gave him a lopsided smile. “It wasn’t because ‘we had all the time in the world’.”

Connor’s brows shot up even higher. “What then?” he asked.

Haytham had to bite back a fit of laughter before answering, “It was because I walked into the rearview mirror in the parking garage. And it hurt really bad.” He burst out laughing again.

Connor couldn’t help but glared at the man, and pinched his stomach, earning him a surprised yelp. “You fucking bastard.” He ground his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy Rappaport was the father of ecological anthropology. And his _Pigs for the Ancestors_ was the ground-breaking work that defined the subject.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Haytham was in the most comfortable slumber he’d had in years when his phone started ringing.

He let out an annoyed groan, and reached to grab the thing from the nightstand. Charles’ awkward smile was on the screen. He rolled his eyes.

The young man who had his arms wrapped around Haytham’s torso nuzzled deeper into his neck. “Are you going to pick it up?” he asked, taking a deep breath of his scent.

Haytham sighed, and slid the button.

Before he could say anything, his best friend’s panicked scream was blasting his eardrums, “Holy shit, Haytham! I did the thing!”

“Slow down, Charles,” Haytham couldn’t help but put his phone a little farther from his ear. “What thing?” he asked with some sort of fond annoyance.

“The unspeakable thing!” shrieked Charles.

“So…” said Haytham, now sitting up and rubbing his eyes, “did you murder your neighbour’s nine cats who have been plotting to take Spado’s life?” He shook his head towards Connor’s puzzled look. Connor smiled wryly instead.

“What? No!”

“Then did you finally succumb to your impulse and go to the nearest Walmart to crush every pack of ramen you could find?”

“Worse! Worse!”

Realization suddenly dawned on Haytham, making him grimace.

“Oh no. You didn’t,” he deadpanned.

“Except I totally did!” He thought Charles couldn’t sound more panicky. Apparently he thought wrong. “He’s sleeping in the bedroom now, buck naked!”

If it wasn’t for his friend’s obvious distraught, he would have laughed like a madman. “I hate to say ‘I told you so’.” He most definitely did not. “What happened?”

“I had one too many last night, and decided to go to his place to rant some more.” Haytham snorted. “We argued. And one thing led to another…Now we’re both naked!”

“No, thank you.” He wrinkled his nose. “I really don’t need the mental image of you two without clothes.”

Apparently Connor had figured out what had happened by now. Stifling his own laughter, he gave Haytham an inquiring look, while the older man nodded resignedly in return.

“What should I do now?” asked Charles.

“Well…” He scratched his face. “How was the sex?”

“It was…” Charles paused for a moment, “great I guess, considering he’s covered with hickeys and bite marks, and there’re scratch marks on my -”

“Again,” Haytham had to raise his voice, “mental image, Charles.” Then he chuckled lightly. “Though I didn’t know you’re so…perverted, my friend,” he teased.

“I’m serious, Haytham!” Charles started screaming again. “Just tell me what to do!”

“Kiss him good morning and tell him you had fun last night?” he prompted.

“No! I don’t want to!”

“Then tell him last night was a mistake and it will never happen again.”

Charles hesitated. “But I don’t want to either…”he muttered.

“Damn it, Charles!” Haytham threw up his other hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “Make up your god damn –”

“Shit, I think he just woke up,” Charles interrupted him, and hissed. “I’ll have to call you back later.”

Then he hung up.

Haytham found himself staring at his phone, eyebrows shot up to the hairline.

“Well, that was…enlightening,” he mused aloud.

A pair of large hands crept up to his stomach again. Then he felt naked warmth against his back.

“So,” said Connor, right next to his ear, “Lee and Washington…?”

Haytham sighed. “Yes,” he said.

“Huh.” Connor blinked. “Lee must be traumatized.”

“He was,” Haytham laughed quietly, “though judging from what he’s told me, they had quite a night.”

“I bet they did.” The younger man smirked.

“Enough of them.” Haytham moved to face his boyfriend, and planted a kiss on his lips. “I had fun last night,” he smiled.

Connor couldn’t help but rolled his eyes. “I lost my virginity last night. And my ass is still sore.”

“Good.” Haytham gave him a lopsided smile, then his hand. “Shower?” he asked.

Connor let out a small sigh, though he was smiling as well. “Fine.” He took his hand.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it takes so long. RL has been busy. : S

They didn’t get married by Christmas.

But Connor did end up moving in with Haytham.

He was adding his own collection of books to his boyfriend’s shelf when Haytham gave him the envelope that looked the same as the one lying intact in the bottom of one of his cardboard box.

He looked up and stared. “What is this?”

“You know what it is,” said Haytham, nonchalantly. “Take it. I don’t want it.” He then practically shoved it into Connor’s hand.

“What…?” Connor looked at the thing, and then scowled at him. “Why are you giving me this? What do you want me to do with it?”

“Whatever you desire.” Haytham put his hands in his pockets, and continued, “I don’t want the truth now, Connor. The only thing I want is you.”

Connor gaped at the older man. He was speechless. It might be as close to “I love you” as he could get, but it didn’t feel sweet. Rather, it was too heavy, too desperate.

The relationship they had been having could not mask their possible blood relation. And Connor would be kidding himself if he said he wasn’t worried. He knew he had been denying the inevitable. But if he could postpone it as long as possible, then he would.

He just didn’t expect a rational man like Haytham would be doing the same thing, maybe even for the rest of his life.

“But…” he hesitated, “what if I eventually find out?”

“Then you should keep it for yourself, even if it turns out to be good news.” Haytham sighed loudly. He took Connor’s hand into his own, and caressed it with his long and pale fingers. “There is no room for doubt in between us. You are what you are to me, and it should never change.”

 

So there he was, standing at their spotless kitchen counter, with the two identical envelopes in front of him.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but hated Haytham a little for leaving the hard decision to him, a decision that could make or break their relationship.

But at the same time, Haytham was right. They couldn’t possibly beat genetics no matter how hard they tried. And what they were having was too precious to be destroyed by a toss of a coin.

Maybe it was stupid to run. Maybe one day they would still find out it was a mistake. However, if running could give them the room to breathe and to love one another, then running they would do.

He flicked the lighter, and watched the flame licked its way towards one of the envelopes. Then he tossed both of them into the sink.

“Guess kidney transplant is out of the question now,” he muttered, and curled up his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.


End file.
